


Deal Gone Wrong

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Cross Onslaught, First Aid and Groove being cute, Fluff and Angst, Medbay, Swindle being devious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Playswithworms kindly gave me this prompt: First Aid failing to be swindled by Swindle (because I mean, c'mon, the guy's name is SWINDLE), or maybe secretly knowing he's being swindled but letting himself be swindled anyway because he doesn't want Swindle to feel bad, even though Swindle pretending to feel bad is part of the swindle, but if the swindle doesn't work, Swindle really WILL feel bad...</p><p>I think this is reasonably close!</p><p>*Warnings* for allusions to sexual relationships and past spark bonds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deal Gone Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Playswithworms](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Playswithworms).



Swindle heard Onslaught yelling from the other end of the compound. “That is IT!” he roared. “I would not let that medic near me again if I was drawing my last intake!”

From this, Swindle gathered that the appointment with Hook had not been a success. That was hardly unusual. Probably more so this time, however, given that a somewhat ‘delicate’ piece of Onslaught’s anatomy had been in issue.

The door burst open and Onslaught charged in, closely followed by an amused looking Brawl and Vortex. Fortunately Onslaught wasn’t looking at their expressions.

“I tell you, Hook is _insufferable!”_ Onslaught roared. “You would not believe what I was subjected to today. The mech is lucky he still FUNCTIONS!” Fists clenched, he raged up and down.

“But Sir,” Vortex ventured wickedly. “He’s the best surgeon in the galaxy.”

“I wouldn’t care if he was the LAST surgeon in the galaxy!” Onslaught roared.

It was then that he espied the yellow jeep. “Swindle!” he snapped. “I want you to go to the Autobot camp and procure the services of that new medic – you know? He's called ...."

"Er - who?" Swindle had to admit that was just a tiny bit of a surprise.

"Well damn it, I don't know!" Onslaught roared. "That _Protectobot!”_

Before Swindle could say more, Onslaught was before him, hands on hips, glaring. “Did you hear what I said? I want _whatsisname_ attending to my problem. He’s good, I heard …” His fists clenched again. “Damnit!” he bawled. “What _is_ his name?”

“Umm ….” Well for pits sake! Swindle couldn’t be expected to remember the name of every Autobot they’d so far come across since their return. Especially that new fangled rescue outfit that had actually proved themselves rather adept as a gestalt and had beaten the scrap out of the Combaticons.

“First Aid!” Vortex came to Swindle's rescue, sauntering across and smiling in a way that made it obvious the copter had no problem remembering at all.

“Yes – him!” Onslaught snapped.

Swindle frowned. "I'm not sure that he likes us ..."

“That is entirely beside the point! Surely somebody of your talents, Swindle, can get around a technicality like that? I want First Aid here once a week to deal with our regular maintenance needs..."

"And I particularly want him here NOW!" Onslaught roared. "You can tell that Constructicon that his _services_ …” he spat the word out, “are no longer required.”

Swindle glanced at the others. Brawl shrugged, whereas Vortex grinned wickedly. “Sounds good t’me!” he said. Blast Off, who had appeared in the doorway, nodded approvingly.

Actually, now Swindle thought about it, that medic was rather cute. Swindle thought of gentle white hands running over his own panels. It would, indeed, be infinitely preferable to the ‘accidentally’ groping ones of the sleazy Constructicon.

Swindle ventured a smile. “I’ll see what I can do!” he said cheerfully.

…………….

“I’m Groove,” The nurse said politely. He radiated ‘niceness,’ and all things Autobot. His face depicted a simple joy at the apparent arrival of a patient, showing no discomfort at all that Swindle was a Decepticon. “Wait here for a moment, please.” He bustled back out to the ward.

Swindle sat down on the comfortable chair. The waiting room was filled with the same ambience as the nurse. The grey tiled floor was impeccably clean, as were the pale green walls. Large pictures showed Earth flowers and trees. A pleasant aroma filled the air as in the background, soft music tinkled.

Swindle chuckled to himself. This wasn’t exactly Onslaught’s cube of energon. Surely the Combaticon leader would feel more at home with the stink of battle, the echo of clanking machines and shouting that usually filled the Decepticon medbay? Whoever was in it. _Ah well._ _Ons’ choice._ _This could be interesting._

The door was ajar. Swindle peered through it. He could see one side of the ward beyond, a sea of whiteness and neatness. Berths lined the wall, a different coloured pastel shaded coverlet spread over each. Human TV’s, suspended from the ceiling, apparently provided patient entertainment. Beside each berth sat a small cabinet and, on it, a scintillating crystal.

Swindle sat back, absorbing the soft sounds and scents. Never mind Onslaught, he definitely preferred this. Even his hangover from last night’s revelries with Vortex, the headache from hastily cobbling together a contract in the early hours - and struggling again to remember the medic’s name – was practically gone.

All Swindle could remember of that was that Vortex would be _exceptionally_ pleased if he pulled this off.

Swindle looked into the ward again. He could see two patients, and they seemed comfortable and content, making grateful noises as Groove brought each in turn a concoction in a small metal cup.  Swindle wondered what was in the cup.  The thought was appealing.

The nurse returned. He smiled. “Now - how can I help you?” he asked politely.

A smile spread over Swindle’s own faceplates. This whole set up epitomized everything about Autobots. Always so happy, so compliant; even with a member of a ruthless team who had once terrorized the galaxy. It made them so  – pliable.

And true, attitudes had changed since the recent ‘truce’ announcement. Despite ‘orders,’ however, most Decepticons would not have been a tenth as accommodating – even without knowing that the deal on Megatron’s part was – or Swindle suspected – a total sham.

Groove waited patiently for an answer, looking wonderfully gullible. Oh yeah – Swindle loved Autobots. This deal would be a walk in the park. Nevertheless, Swindle put on his special best, super-salesman smile.

“Swindle’s the name! Say – nice joint you got here …” He held out his hand.

“Thank you,” Groove said graciously. A small, light brown hand shook Swindle’s uncertainly.

“Happy to help get anything you need. You know -  medical gear, stuff like that. I can do a good price!” It would pay to butter this one up. Swindle could always have a word with Scavenger about a few things _going missing_ from the Decepticon medbay.

“That would be very kind. But really, we have all that we need.”

“Well – offer’s there!” Swindle beamed. “After all – we all gotta work together now, don’t we? Here for a common cause!” He grinned, crookedly. “I was kinda hoping I could talk to that favorite Autobot medic o’yours. First Aid?” _Hey – he remembered the name._

“Certainly,” Groove said. “Aid’s door is open to all. At present, he’s engaged in an emergency procedure …” he hesitated, and Swindle felt cobalt blue optics sweeping his frame. “You look as though you could do with some maintenance, however. Should I perform a preliminary examination?”

 _Hell, that was tempting!_ The music tinkled encouragingly. But first things first. “Hey – er – no, that really ain’t what I’m here for,” Swindle forced a laugh. “Y’see – I really do have a business proposition. And more than just equipment. Your guy’s gonna love it! But maybe after we’re done ….”

“Say, it looks as if Aid has finished  …” Groove had  looked disappointed, then mildly confused. Now, he smiled brightly again.

Looking up, Swindle saw that the end door had opened. He glimpsed flashing lights and beeping machines; just before the Protectobot medic emerged and the patients greeted him happily.

…………….

First Aid wore a face mask and minimal armor. Pert and neat, he perched on the chair opposite, his red and white form in total harmony with the surroundings of the medical office, the décor of which was something of a cross between the ward and the waiting room.

A tingle went through Swindle. There was more than Autobot niceness here, or that the mech gushed caring and wellbeing. A distinct and very professional air of competence surrounded him, an impression of knowing about mechs’ parts, and exactly what to do with them. Now Swindle knew why Onslaught had made this request. And why Vortex was so keen.

And Swindle, also, was keen - he had to clinch this deal! He was conscious of the datapad in his arm compartment, the contract waiting, ready to be signed.

First Aid’s blue optics regarded Swindle speculatively. “So – what exactly do you want?” he said.

This one was no fool. The cards would have to be played right. But that just made it a little more interesting and challenging.

“Well – it‘s like this,” Swindle opened his hands in a warm gesture. “We want you to come an’ be our medic. Not all the Cons, mind! Just like – a private Combaticon thing.”

“I see!” First Aid looked surprised. “May I ask - why?”

Swindle chuckled. “Cos you’re the best!” He winked. “Mechs talk, y’know. Gossip is that there isn’t a finer medic to be found between here and the next quadrant!” (Primus help him if Hook ever found out he’d said that.)

“I see.” A little smile appeared on First Aid’s face. Although he looked unconvinced.

“But of course, we don’t expect you to do that for nothin’!” Swindle went on. “I mean – we appreciate that you’ve got a lot on your plate, here, that your time is valuable. So we’re happy to offer you – somethin’ special in return!”

First Aid raised an optic ridge. “Really?” he said. “That’s very – kind!”

The medic looked genuinely enthusiastic. _Awesome. He’s gonna buy it._ And why not? It was an OK prospect. Even if what Swindle was about to say _wasn’t_ quite as set in concrete as he was about to make out.

Swindle relaxed, sitting back in a manner which he knew also showed off his attractive yellow frame, the joints on his purple pelvic armour.  “Well now – here’s the deal …” he took a deep intake. “It’s a dangerous business out there, see? These humans? You can’t trust ’em!”

 “But – they’re some of my patients!” First Aid looked dismayed.

“Yeah – well I mean, some of them are mighty fine,” Swindle said quickly. “But a lot – they’re more powerful and more anti us than you think. I mean – look at me?” Swindle raised his hands. “I thought I’d found a friend, next thing I was being doublecrossed into selling off my own team!”

When First Aid’s optics widened, Swindle leaned forward. “What I’m offering you is – _protection!_ From mechs every bit as good at that as you are at – uh …” he grinned, “at healing the sick.”

……………….

First Aid regarded the yellow mech with the large purple optics. That last statement of Swindle’s wasn’t _quite_ how he understood the incident to have occurred. And, of course, First Aid’s medical programming was such that Swindle didn’t have to offer a ‘deal’ for First Aid to heal the sick. Nevertheless, he had already decided that it could have its advantages.

For it had perturbed First Aid how many of their own kind humans had destroyed in their wars. They could be violent in a group, and he could not deny that he had heard rumors of ‘rebellions’, of their armed forces amassing to rid planet Earth of the ‘invaders.’ It was one reason for the truce, the combining of effort.

And First Aid had even harbored secret fears about how the Protectobots, alone in their own base away form the rest of the Autobots, would be vulnerable. Well the humans would surely think twice about offensive action if they knew that certain – Decepticons – were keeping watch?

Besides which, First Aid could not help but feel a little tingly at the thought of these particular Decepticons. He had not dared say anything to Hot Spot, but they were somewhat - appealing. Especially that copter with the military frame and large, churning rotors.

Swindle was grinning. First Aid realized there was a smile on his own face. He removed it. Primus forbid if Swindle realized _that sort of thing_ was a motive. Which it couldn’t be, of course. No – First Aid had to look at this from the point of view of a logical, sensible proposition, a way to expand his career with some practical advantages in return.

“Ain’t  just the humans, of course,” Swindle was saying. “If you wanna expand offworld, there’s lotta dangers out there in the rest of the universe! And look – mech – I know we got a truce,” his face became a picture of empathy and sincerity, “but there’s a lotta Decepticons you ain’t exactly got no worries with, now ain’t there?”

Well that was true. Aside from the appealing idea of First Aid touring the galaxy with that copter. But thinking of Decepticons, First Aid squirmed inside as another thought occurred. “What’s wrong with your own medic?” he asked.

Primus forbid that Swindle didn’t gage how uncomfortable _that_ question made him. Or the sudden ache in his spark, or the guilt about how _Hook_ would react to this ‘suggestion.’

But Swindle shrugged. Evidently, he knew nothing of First Aid’s past ‘association’ with the Decepticon medic. “Aww you know how it is! Hook’s a top guy – don’t get me wrong, but he’s snowed under. He’s got six Constructicons to worry about and those Seekers. And Megatron is – you know, “ he smirked, “rather demanding.”

“I see, “First Aid said. He felt a twang in his spark that it was like that for Hook. Even though his ‘ex’ definitely didn’t deserve it.

Swindle smiled crookedly. “I knew you’d wanna help out.”

First Aid weighed up the facts again. It was tempting; for had he not vowed to value all life, to treat all beings equally?  This was a way he could do that, prove his conviction to his own cause, treat all Cybertronians, humans and any other aliens - and be safe in the process.

Yet, his base programming churned uncomfortably – and it wasn’t only this silly attachment he still had to Hook, or the pain at the thought of damage to the mech’s ego. For a little voice inevitably sounded within. _Come on. Think of who these mechs are! Did Defensor not floor Bruticus? Surely they have not forgotten that?_

And the Combaticons did have a reputation for – First Aid shuddered inwardly – _extreme violence_.  And Swindle was said to be – _untrustworthy_. First Aid had to admit that - painful though it was for him not to see only the good in mechs – some realism was necessary.

Besides, what would his _own team_ say? Hotspot was sure to be horrified. And Blades? The wounds to his ego would pale in comparison to Hook’s at the mere notion that the Decepticon copter was ’looking after’ him.

Swindle had gone quiet. A sad look had come over him, his mouth turning down at the corners. The purple optics turned liquidy. _He already knows my answer,_ First Aid thought; and his spark ached, despairingly. Any mech suffering was so completely abhorrent. Swindle had probably pinned many hopes on this. As would have the others.

And what if the other Combaticons were really sick, and desperately in need of his services? First Aid had not even explored that possibility.

Maybe he should not be so rash – or so distrusting.

“Perhaps if I could just look at the contract?” he said. Maybe there was room for ‘negotiation.’

………….

Swindle’s smile swept back into place. “Why, sure thing, pal!” Pulling the results of the late night efforts from his arm, he handed the datapad over.

Swindle cackled inwardly. For a moment there, the surroundings had lost their relaxing appeal, and Swindle had thought he’d have to use something other than _nice guy_ tactics to win First Aid over; something which fell short of dragging the mech out of there, but in no uncertain terms made clear that you didn’t say ‘no’ - or even 'maybe' - to a mech like Onslaught.

But no – as always was the case with Autobots, the _sad guy_ stuff had worked. When all else was done, it always did on them; and this one had shown himself particularly prone to it, a very useful fact to know in future.

First Aid read the contract slowly and carefully. Swindle took the opportunity to eye off again the neat little frame, the crested helm, the white fingers holding the pad. Onslaught was gonna be pleased.  Vortex would be extra _specially_ pleased. And it always paid to stay on Vortex’ ‘right’ side. Aside from that Swindle liked pleasing him.

Swindle’s mind went back to _last night._ He struggled to remember how he’d actually worded the contract, and could not help feel that there was some small detail he had been going to include, but had not done so.

Ah well – the basic terms would be there. Bit hard to get those wrong! Whatever it was, it was bound to be minor, the least of his worries. Too late now, anyway ….….

Swindle watched as First Aid came to the end of the document. He seemed to think for a moment, hesitating and scrolling back to re-read some of the clauses. But then, to Swindle’s relief, he pulled out a stylus.

“Very well,” he said. “I cannot accompany you right now, but I should be able to provide the services you require within the next half cycle. If that will suffice?”

“You got it!” Swindle nearly jumped with glee. Damn, that had been easy – and the result was even better than he’d anticipated. Surely Onslaught owed Swindle the first ‘service’ for this?

Swindle watched as a neat little signature – in keeping with the rest of First Aid - appeared on the pad. “Say - can I offer you transport?” the Combaticon asked. “No charge. Cockpit service guaranteed?” After this victory, he was sure he could even get Blast off to agree to that. Somehow.

“That will be all right,” First Aid smiled, handing back the pad. “I would prefer to finalize those arrangements myself.”

…………..

The Combaticons stood in a group, arms folded and watching as the white Autobot shuttle coasted in to land on the island runway, his reverse thrusters echoing loudly among the surrounding mountains.

“Why’d they send him on Skyfire?” Vortex asked Brawl.

“Cos their own copter’s scared witless of you!”

Vortex laughed, loudly and raucously, his rotors twitching as the shuttle ground to a halt. “Thrusters’ll be pleased,” he said. Brawl tittered beside him.

Onslaught glared at them “Silence!” he barked above the din of Skyfire’s engines. “I want a good impression created. You stand to attention and you look like a military protection team – otherwise Swindle’s excellent work could be wasted. _Do I make myself clear?”_

Vortex and Brawl smirked. They shifted accordingly. But Swindle, standing apart from the others, felt suddenly nervous.  What if concerns were warranted? What if this was a hoax? What if Skyfire was loaded with armed Autobots?

But no – Onslaught would have detected immediately any hostile signatures. And besides – _don’t be a jerk, Swindle_ – Autobots just ain’t like that. There’s a truce on. It has to be _honoured_. Genuinely. And First Aid wouldn’t do _something like that_ even if there wasn’t.

Swindle thought of the _goodliness_ of the Autobot medbay, the pastel shades and scents and soft music. He thought of the Autobot medic and his compliant, caring nurse. He nearly laughed out loud himself. No – First Aid didn’t even _know_ how to think like that.

No – it was all fine. Of course it was – Swindle had pulled it off! And Onslaught was well pleased with him for that. And relieved – for given the painful stifflegged walk Onslaught had exhibited on the way out here, the occasional wince and groan and his exceptionally short fuse now, he _really_ needed this service.

And it was good that Skyfire was here, it had saved Swindle undergoing the routine of twisting Blast Off’s arm. Besides, the Combaticon shuttle wore a pleased expression. He never knocked back an opportunity to commune with the Autobot shuttleformer. Yeah – and wasn’t that what this truce was all about?

Skyfire’s engines were powering down in a slow whine, the ramp lowering. Vortex and Brawl looked at each other again. Onslaught was busy staring at the ramp. “I wish they’d get on with it!” he muttered.

The ramp was down. The afternoon sun glinted off the white shuttle. Yet still no mech had appeared. Seeing Onslaught’s impatience grow, Swindle felt uneasy again. But hey – there was an obvious way to reassure himself. Why didn’t he think of that before?

Swindle activated his comm. Privately, he opened a channel to First Aid. //Say, welcome to the base//  he said, in the most nonchalant, ‘I’m yer pal,’ type voice he could muster. //What’s goin’ on?//

And then, Swindle froze. For First Aid’s transmission came back. But it came not from the shuttle on the tarmac in front of him. Instead - it was from the Autobot medbay.

Now Swindle really _did_ have a bad feeling about this ….

First Aid’s voice was cool and unruffled. //I’m sorry it isn’t me,// he said. //But the contract only specified ‘an Autobot medic,' and the one I’ve sent has much more experience than me. It did take some persuasion – but luckily there is a truce on. In the end he was really quite delighted. He is a true Autobot, just am I. We all must help each other.//

//You what - I - WHAT?// Stricken, Swindle watched as all of the other Combaticons now agitated, peering across the tarmac. He felt sick in his energon chamber. And of course, now he remembered the detail he’d been going to put in the contract. Oh yeah – very minor. Only the _mech’s frickin’ name._

Curse Vortex and his amnesiac inducing drinking sessions.

And now, a red and white form appeared at the top of the ramp. The others gaped. For indeed, it was not the small, neat, compact one that was anticipated. This one was a great deal bigger, older and - oh yeah, the rumours were definitely true - infinitely meaner. He was also far too 'esteemed' to have his services 'knocked back' during the truce. Swindle watched in horror as _the other Autobot medic_ made his way determinedly down the ramp.

In one of Ratchet’s hands was the largest and most imposing medical bag that Swindle had ever seen. In the other, he pulled behind him a metal contraption on wheels, complete with cylinders and terrifying looking attachments. He clanked down the ramp, his face set, mouth spread in a firm line.

The Autobot looked over. Blue optics, piercing with terrifying intensity even at this distance glowered at them from beneath tightly knitted optic ridges. And Swindle knew, without a doubt, that any 'delight' was _not_ going to be on the part of the Combaticons and that the words ‘help’ and ‘true Autobot’ did not have anything like the same meaning, or the same implications, as when applied by First Aid.

Onslaught knew too. “SWINDLE!” he roared. But the jeep was already gone, speeding off across the compound, dust flying out from under his tyres.

//Hook?// Swindle commed as he bounced along. //Look, I know you an’ Onslaught haven’t been the best of pals lately, but I’m just wondering if you could do me a favour. Just this once. Say - I’ll make it worth your while. Promise …//

 


End file.
